


Don't Make Me Wait too Long

by memory_vacant



Category: IT (2019), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Everybody Lives, Friends With Benefits, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Top Eddie Kaspbrak, Virgin Eddie Kaspbrak, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23160691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memory_vacant/pseuds/memory_vacant
Summary: “Do you think it would be weird if we slept together?”  His words were strained, but there was no mistaking them.  Richie grasped the arm of the couch, his knuckles whitened and burned under the strain, but he needed something to ground him.  He searched Eddies face for even the smallest hint of a joke, but there wasn’t one.“You’re serious.” Richie said.  It wasn’t a question.  It didn’t need to be; Eddie would never joke about something like this.  Eddie just nodded.  “You would actually want that?”“Why not?”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 24
Kudos: 355





	Don't Make Me Wait too Long

**Author's Note:**

> Took a break from writing my vampire Reddie au to finish this mess. I hope it's okay.
> 
> Come visit me on tumblr at memory-vacant, I'd love to hear from you!

“Hey, Rich… Can I ask you something?” Eddie asked. Richie barely heard him above the volume of the television, but there was no mistaking the hesitation in his voice. Eddie had been quiet all day, which obviously meant something was wrong; Eddie Kaspbrak was never silent for long around Richie Tozier. 

“Sure thing, Eds.” Richie paused the movie and turned to look at him. Eddie was still staring straight ahead, the glow of the TV illuminating his brown eyes. His lips were pursed tight. “What’s up?”

Another moment passed before Eddie met his eyes. Worry was spread across his features, and for a fleeting moment, Richie wanted to kiss it away. But he didn’t. The fact of the matter was that not a single day passed where he didn’t want to kiss Eddie; and it was unbearable, but Eddie would never want him that way. Richie accepted that. Their shared living arrangement had only come about after Eddie’s divorce; after Myra nearly bled him dry. He needed a place to stay while he got back on his feet, and Richie just happened to be the only Loser whose lifestyle accommodated a guest. Richie accepted that, too.

Eddie’s face fell. He looked like he really didn’t want to say anything more… but eventually, he did.

“Am I unlovable?” Eddie whispered. His eyebrows were synched together, his mouth in a tight frown. He looked broken, as if the thought had taken hold in him long ago and torn him apart piece by piece until all that remained was doubt. Richie just stared; aghast.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Richie asked as seriously as he could muster. “Eddie, what about the Losers? Don’t you know how much we love you?”

“No, no, of course I know that.” He said quickly. “It’s just… I mean—Could someone ever love me… romantically?” Eddie looked up at Richie, then. He looked small; full of a kind of self-doubt that Richie had never seen in him before. It made Richie want to scream; it was one thing for Eddie to doubt his ability to kill an interdimensional clown—because after all, hadn’t each of the Losers felt that doubt—but Richie would be damned if he let Eddie believe that no one could love him.

“Eds, what made you think that?” He was staring at Eddie, searching his face for an answer. Eddie just shrugged.

“I’ve just been thinking about it lately. Myra—well if she ever _really_ loved me, it wasn’t in a healthy way. And maybe I’m just really fucking stupid, but I’ve never noticed anyone else flirt with me.”

_You are fucking stupid,_ Richie thought.

“Eddie, that’s ridiculous.” Richie said. Eddie’s eyes widened in question and confusion; Richie hated how cute it was. “You’re…You’re attractive, Eds. I bet tons of people have flirted with you. Especially in college,” he reached out and pinched Eddie’s cheek, “a cute face like this would’ve had all the college girls on their knees.” Eddie slapped his hand away, but there was no hiding the smile that broke across his face.

“Well. About that…” Eddie’s smile had faltered; he was looking away from Richie again.

“Don’t leave me hanging, Eddie Spaghetti, what is it?”

“Don’t fucking call me that when I’m baring my soul over here.” Eddie said. Richie rolled his eyes, but motioned for him to continue. “I don’t think I would have been interested—you know, if a girl _had_ flirted with me.” He looked unsure of his own words, as if he was saying them before he fully processed them.

“What—what do you mean, Eds?” Richie said, ignoring the quickening of his heartbeat.

“I’ve never told anyone else—and I only really admitted it to myself recently, but… I’m gay, Rich.” He had begun to fiddle with a pillow, picking at the embroidery.

Richie didn’t know if he should pass out or scream. He had spent so long pining after his best friend, hiding behind humor and insults, knowing it was useless to hope. Now it didn’t seem so impossible. But, as much as he wanted to revel in that fact, Eddie was eyeing him; silently begging Richie to speak, to say anything.

“Well, then… your cute face would’ve had all the college boys on their knees. Either way, Eds.” Richie said, grinning crookedly. Eddie rolled his eyes, but Richie could see the tension in his shoulders drop.

“Gee, thanks, Rich.”

“No problem, Spaghetti.” Richie said, and laughed when Eddie hit him with the pillow. 

They were quiet for a minute; neither knowing what exactly to do or say. Richie considered turning the movie back on, considered running away to his room, but neither option seemed right. Eddie’s dark brows were still cinched together, casting heavy shadows over his eyes. 

“Was that all that was bothering you, Eds.”

More silence.

“Seriously, dude. I’m not gonna turn Ghostbusters back on till—"

“I’ve never—” Eddie’s mouth snapped shut. His eyes darted around the room, searching for what to say. He took a deep breath and suddenly everything came rushing out, “I’ve never had—I mean not even with Myra. She didn’t want it at all, and that was fucking fine cause I—fuck, Richie, I basically married my mom and I’ve been so deep in the closet—I mean I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—"

“Eddie, what—what are you trying to say? That you’re a virgin?” Richie was blushing; he knew he was. _Eddie_ , the man he’d been in love with since he’d believed cooties were real, _Eddie_ , the most perfect, gorgeous human being on the planet, was a virgin.

“Yeah.” Eddie said, smiling a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m a 40-year-old, closeted, virgin. Pretty pathetic, huh?”

Richie thought about making a joke; he knew it was what Eddie was expecting. But his big brown eyes were shining up at Richie, and all the humor in his body was lost in them. Without thinking, Richie opened his mouth and told the truth.

“I mean I’m two of those things.” Richie shrugged, attempting to make this as casual as possible, but his stomach was dancing unsteadily, and he could feel the sweat forming on his palms. 

Once upon a time in the caverns underneath Derry, Richie had promised himself that if he survived, he would be true to himself and the world; he wouldn’t hide behind heteronormative bullshit anymore just because it was safe; he would be honest, and he would be proud. But as it turns out, _saying_ you’ll do something and _actually_ doing it are two very different things. The fear of rejection was too ingrained in him; he couldn’t lose the best friends he ever had. He most certainly couldn’t lose Eddie.

But now he said it, and Eddie was looking at him so tenderly—too tenderly— and it almost made it easier. “And before you say it, you little shitbird, I’m not a virgin.” 

“Rich…” Eddie placed a cautious hand on Richie’s shoulder. “Why’d you never say anything?”

“Pot calling the kettle ‘black,’ much?”

“Shut up, asshole.” Eddie said, using the hand on Richie’s shoulder to shove at him, but they were both smiling. 

They stayed that way for a while; neither of them saying anything. Eddie’s hand hadn’t left Richie’s arm, and his thumb began smoothing small circles along the muscle there. Richie wondered if he even noticed he was doing it, or if he knew how it made Richie’s heart feel like it was going to burst through his ribs. It was infuriating and unbelievably distracting, and Richie loved every second of it.

He chanced a glance at Eddie, finding him staring at the TV where the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man was frozen, mid-step.

“Do you want me to turn the movie back on?” Richie said, pulling Eddie out of his daze.

“Oh—yeah, sure if you want to, but…” Eddie took a deep, unsteady breath. “Do you think it would be weird if we—no, no, god that’s so stupid.” His hands flew to his face, concealing the blush that burned underneath. 

Richie pulled his legs onto the couch, crossing them and turning his body till his knees pressed against Eddie’s thigh. The new angle strained his back and positioned their faces much closer than he had planned, but Richie couldn’t find the energy to care, because Eddie was still hiding behind his long fingers. 

“Hey, wait, Eddie what were you gonna say?” Richie leaned closer, wordlessly urging Eddie to look at him. “Would it be weird if we what?”

Eddie sighed into his hands, but didn’t respond.

“Eds, in one night you’ve told me you’re a gay virgin that doesn’t believe he’s lovable… What the hell is harder to say than that?” Richie said. His words could have been considered biting, but they knew each other too well at this point, and if Richie could hear the revealing tenderness in his voice, then so could Eddie. 

Eddie’s hands finally fell. His features were twisted with embarrassment, and his sad eyes had found Richie’s face. Richie forced himself to ignore how close they had become, focusing instead on fixing whatever it was that was bothering Eddie. 

Eddie’s gaze bore into Richie’s soul, wordlessly asking a million questions that Richie was too afraid to answer. The anticipation got to be too much, and the tension abruptly snapped as Eddie shot off of the couch. He turned back to face Richie, who could only stare dumbfoundedly. Before he could think better of it, Eddie opened his mouth and spoke.

“Do you think it would be weird if we slept together?” His words were strained, but there was no mistaking them. Richie grasped the arm of the couch, his knuckles whitened and burned under the strain, but he needed something to ground him. He searched Eddies face for even the smallest hint of a joke, but there wasn’t one.

“You’re serious.” Richie said. It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be; Eddie would never joke about something like this. Eddie just nodded. “You would actually want that?”

“Why not?” Eddie said quickly, too quickly. Before Richie could call him out on it, he began pacing back and forth in front of the television; gesticulating wildly as he spoke again. “I mean you’re gay, I’m gay, we’re both into men so that’s one good reason. And I _want_ to have sex, Rich. Like… really badly…” Eddie took a deep, shaky breath, and Richie watched his chest rise and fall with rapt attention. 

Richie would be lying if he said he wasn’t already affected by Eddie’s words. Heat was pooling in his abdomen, and his jeans were noticeably tighter than he remembered. He felt like shit for it, but innocent, beautiful Eddie Kaspbrak was asking him for sex. It was a lot.

“Besides, I would only want to have sex with someone I trusted, and… I trust you, Richie.” Eddie said. It looked like it pained him to say it, but there was no uncertainty in his voice. “So yeah… I want it. Would—would you want to?” 

Eddie was still staring down at him with those big puppy dog eyes, and Richie knew that he couldn’t say no to him even if he wanted to. So he stood—on admittedly shaky legs—and stepped towards Eddie.

“Yeah. Why not?” Richie said, forcing a casual tone. Eddie’s eyes lit up and Richie thought it was the cutest thing in the world. If Eddie would keep looking at him like that, then Richie could be brave. “Your bedroom or mine?”

“Wait—what?” Eddie’s eyebrows shot up, deepening the lines across his forehead. Richie’s shit-eating grin widened, because even in the face of passionate, no-strings-attached sex, nothing could be more satisfying than seeing a flustered Eddie Kaspbrak. “I didn’t mean _now_ , jackass.”

“Okay. When?” Richie said.

“Just—just not now, okay? That’d be weird.”

“How would that be weirder than waiting a couple of days? I know you, Eddie. If we put it off, you’ll spend every day leading up to it stressing… and honestly, I would too.” Richie admitted. Of course nearly every fiber of his body was dying to finally be able to touch Eddie in that way, but he wanted—needed—Eddie to be comfortable, and if he had to be vulnerable to do so, then he could make that sacrifice. At least for a second. “Not to mention, Eds, you’re the one that ‘ _wants_ to have sex. _Really badly.’”_ Richie air quoted, doing his best Eddie Kaspbrak impression (which mostly involved him squatting down a couple of inches). 

Eddie glared at him. It was a familiar look; one that he’d given him so many times when they were kids, and the same look he still gave him at least three times a week. Eyebrows pinched in the middle; lips drawn tightly in a disapproving frown. He looked like he wanted to kill Richie, but Richie just fell a little further in love.

Eddie crossed his arms, considering the man that stood before him, and a devious grin appeared on his face. Richie just watched as Eddie took a confident step towards him.

“Yours.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Richie. I’m not gonna stay up all night washing my sheets; so it’s your room or not at all.”

Richie was dumbstruck. If Eddie did one more thing to surprise him tonight, he might just explode. He knew that Eddie was brave—hell, he may have been the first to truly realize just _how_ brave he was—but that didn’t make this easier. Richie had been in love with Eddie since they were twelve, he had dreamed of having Eddie in this way since he was 17, and even if he didn’t remember him all those years between then and now, that ache had never gone away.

“Alright. Let’s go, Spaghetti.” Richie said. 

Without overthinking it, he turned away from Eddie, and moved towards his bedroom. He didn’t dare to look back, but he was relieved to hear Eddie’s characteristically heavy footsteps following close behind. When he reached his room, he froze in front of the closed door; the reality of the situation fully setting in.

“You don’t have to do this, Rich.” Eddie’s voice came from close behind him. It sounded small and fragile, and just as scared as Richie felt. A part of him wanted to tell Eddie just how much he _did_ want it, wanted to tell him he was only scared because it was more than just sex for him. But then Eddie placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, and Richie’s gut instincts took over.

“Eds,” Richie said, resting a hand on the doorknob. “I know how much you’re gagging for it, pun intended, and I’m not about to let you down.” Eddie scowled at him, but still moved into the bedroom once Richie opened the door and motioned for him to go first.

“Are you going to be like this all night?” Eddie snapped as the door clicked shut behind Richie. “Believe it or not, Tozier, shitty jokes aren’t good foreplay.”

“A: How would you know, and B: You fucking love it.”

“You know what? You clearly aren’t taking this seriously; sorry I ever suggested it.” Eddie’s hands flew up in defeat before he started to leave.

“Eds—Eddie, wait. Wait, please.” Richie said, voice coming out more desperate than he had planned. It was his turn to grab Eddie’s shoulder, and he held on for dear life. Eddie stopped in his tracks. His eyebrow quirked up, clearly not expecting the sincerity that had seeped into Richie’s words. 

“What, Richie?”

“Look, Eds… I know I’m a trashmouth that doesn’t know when to shut up, but the truth is I’m just really nervous right now. I mean, aren’t you?” Richie asked. Eddie’s shoulder tensed under Richie’s touch, and his gaze dropped to the floor.

“Of course I am.” Eddie breathed, a characteristic frown distorting his features. “I want it, don’t get me wrong, but… I’m terrified. I’m terrified that I’ll be bad at it, or that it’ll be weird between us, or…” His eyes finally rose back up, finding Richie’s. In Richie’s wildest dreams, he would have recognized the look on Eddie’s face as longing; but standing in his dimly lit bedroom, watching Eddie’s lips as they worked to form something to say, Richie couldn’t bring himself to think about what that look meant.

“Hey, hey, Eds, look at me.” Richie’s hand moved incrementally till it was curled around the juncture between Eddie’s neck and shoulder. “So what if you suck at it? It’s your first time, dude; I’m not gonna judge you.” The tips of his fingers brushed through the fine hairs at Eddie’s nape, tickling the skin there. “Besides, I’ll be here to talk you through it.”

“Of course you’d find a way to talk during sex.” Eddie said.

“You know it, Eduardo.” Richie smiled. “And don’t worry about it being weird. I won’t make it weird as long as you don’t.”

Eddie stared at him silently, considering. Moments passed before he nodded—more to himself than to Richie—and stepped forward, decreasing the space between them too much, and not enough all at the same time. 

“Okay. I trust you.” Eddie said for the second time that night. “How should we start?”

“I guess we do whatever feels right; I don’t know.” Richie said, shrugging.

“Asshole, you said you’ve done this before; how the hell do you not know what to do?” Eddie asked, angrily chopping the air between them.

“I fucking know what to do, it’s just different.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Eddie pushed, an eyebrow raised in question, his arms crossing in front of his puffed chest.

“I mean we’re friends—”

“Oh come on, you were fine with that like two seconds ago; why’s it _really_ different, Richie?”

“It’s different because it’s you!”

Richie clamped his mouth shut so hard and fast that his teeth clinked loudly, and a sharp pain settled in his jaw. Eddie’s eyes got impossibly larger, and Richie swore he could feel his pulse quicken underneath his fingers.

“I mean—I mean it’s different because you’re my best friend, and—and it’s your first time, man. That’s a lot of expectation…” He said, hoping to god that Eddie believed him.

“Oh.” Eddie finally said. Richie tried to ignore how disappointed he sounded.

He removed his hand—selfishly allowing his fingers to trail along Eddie’s jugular—and let it fall to his side. He knew it was now or never, so he backed up till his legs hit mattress, and sat down. 

As Eddie stared down at him, Richie was hit with a realization—one that he had had a lifetime ago in Derry, one that hit him like a brick to the face in the Jade of the Orient, one that he had had a million times in between those days and hours and seconds. It was a simple revelation; one that never managed to shock him, but simultaneously made his stomach twist and turn till he felt like laying down for days on end. That revelation was, of course, that Eddie Kaspbrak was all he could ever want in life.

And most days, it drove him crazy. When Eddie worked from his laptop in the evenings and his face scrunched up in concentration, when he did laundry in just his boxer briefs and an old Kool-Aid t-shirt, and even when he insisted on telling every waiter about his extensive list of “allergies”, Richie would feel a maddening pang of want. He wanted Eddie. He wanted Eddie to want him. And if this night was the closest he would ever come to knowing that reciprocation, then he could live with that. Probably.

“Come here.” Richie said.

“Oh—okay.” Eddie took a confident step forward before stopping suddenly; a foot left between them. “Where?”

“Just—” Richie pinched the bridge of his nose and wished he was _actually_ annoyed with Eddie. Frustratingly enough, he was only annoyed by how cute Eddie looked when he was confused. “Come here, to me.”

And he did.

Eddie stood between Richie’s spread knees, his chest level with Richie’s face. 

“Scoot back a little.” Eddie said as his hands came up and rested on Richie’s pecs, pushing ever-so-slightly.

“Why?”

“Cause I can’t straddle you when you’re this close to the edge of the bed, asshole.” Eddie said with no real heat to his words. 

As quickly as he could, Richie maneuvered himself onto the center of the bed, already missing the soft pressure of Eddie’s hands on his chest. He settled down, reclining on his elbows and spreading his legs as inconspicuously as possible, although Richie was aware that there was nothing inconspicuous about the growing tent in his jeans. 

Eddie didn’t move. He stood there, motionless, looking Richie up and down; slowly raking his dark eyes over every inch of his body. 

Finally, they locked eyes, and Richie hoped that his face conveyed everything he was too afraid to say out loud: _I need you, Eds—touch me—let me touch you—want to make you feel good—it’s all I’ve ever wanted—please…_

“Please.” Richie whispered, so full of love and want that he couldn’t care how desperate he sounded. Eddie didn’t ask him what he meant; he didn’t have to. He crawled across the mattress, carefully slotting Richie’s hips between his own.

Eddie weighed nothing, really, and Richie was almost certain that he wasn’t even pressing his full weight onto him, but it still felt so intense and perfect. He held back from thrusting up into it; still clinging onto the fear that if he initiated too much, Eddie would run away. Which was, admittedly, ridiculous given their current position, but Richie needed Eddie to make the first move.

“Hey.” Eddie whispered. A beautiful smile crossed over his face. He looked so pure and innocent; so unbelievably soft as he gazed down at Richie.

“Hey.” Richie breathed.

“You still alright?” Eddie asked, smoothing his hands down Richie sides. ‘Alright’ was a relative term, Richie thought.

“Never better.” Richie said, and if truer words had never come out of his mouth before, then Eddie didn’t have to know.

“Good. Great… Can I kiss you?” Eddie asked as his thumbs slipped underneath Richie’s shirt.

“If you want to.” Richie said, not really hearing his own words over the pounding of his heartbeat.

“I do.” Eddie said. He leaned down, then, and pressed his lips to Richie’s. It was gentle and firm and everything Eddie was, poured into a kiss. Richie’s chest tightened. He realized that he couldn’t breathe, but also that he didn’t want to; anything that wasn’t kissing Eddie Kaspbrak wasn’t worth the energy anymore.

So he deepened the kiss. Their mouths began working in time together, finding a rhythm as Eddie’s tongue slid effortlessly into his mouth. Richie wrapped an arm around Eddie’s neck, the other curled across his back, and pulled him flush to his chest. It was a sensation he’d felt before, in the precious moments when Eddie’s tough exterior melted away and he let Richie hug him. Richie would always hold him close and pretend for all the world that it meant nothing, and sometimes even he believed it. But now, with Eddie’s tongue rolling messily against his own, their chests heaving, and Eddie’s thumb still massaging circles into his hip, it was harder to pretend. 

They stayed like that for a while, just kissing and grabbing desperately till it was unclear where exactly one ended and the other began. Richie’s nerve endings burned with every slide of a hand, with every shift in weight, and when Eddie’s eyelashes brushed across his cheekbone it made his chest constrict, and he knew why. But he wasn’t about to burden Eddie with the emotional weight of being loved, so he kept his mouth shut—figuratively of course—and held on to Eddie’s hip just a little tighter.

Just when Richie was finally getting used to the intimacy of it all—though his brain was still screaming at him that this couldn’t be real—Eddie nipped at his bottom lip. It was a quick movement, and the pain was negligible, but it was so sudden, and so unbelievably hot that Richie’s hips bucked against Eddie’s before he could stop himself. Eddie made a surprised noise, and Richie pulled away for the first time since they started, terrified that he had done something wrong.

“Are you—”

“Don’t stop.” Eddie said, punctuating his words with a messy kiss that landed closer to Richie’s nose than his lips. “Don’t fucking stop.”

Eddie tugged Richie up to him, closing the distance with another searing kiss. Their lips moved together easily, slick with saliva. Richie almost wanted to pull away again, just to see how messy and wet and perfect Eddie’s mouth must look, but Eddie had told him not to stop, so he acted on instinct, acted on years of pent-up longing and rolled his hips again.

The friction felt incredible, even between the layers of clothing. Richie’s zipper rubbed uncomfortably against his painfully stiff cock, but he couldn’t be bothered to care when he felt Eddie’s arousal pressing hard against him. Eddie moaned, nearly whimpered, spurring on Richie’s movements. Their hips began working in tandem, thrusting into each other so perfectly. Eddie grabbed hold of Richie’s hips, guiding them up to meet his movements, and _fuck,_ if there was ever a time for Richie to realize he liked being manhandled, _this was it._

“Eds—fuck—Eds what do you want?” Richie asked, breathing hard. Eddie pulled back just far enough to look down at Richie, and, yes, he did look absolutely stunning with his kiss-reddened lips and his spit-slick chin glistening in the low light. Eddie eyed him thoughtfully, and Richie almost wanted to hide his face; he must look a mess: complete with crooked glasses and a goofy, love-sick gaze. But then one of Eddie’s hands was caressing his cheek, ghosting across the stubble there; and Eddie smiled at him. It was so sweet, and Richie never wanted to forget the way Eddie Kaspbrak, love of his life, looked at him in that moment.

“Honestly?”

“Yeah, honestly. This night’s all about you, Spaghetti Man.” Eddie rolled his eyes so hard it looked like it hurt, but he was smiling.

“Honestly…” Eddie slotted a knee between Richie’s legs, nudging them apart and maneuvering down till he was pressed into the cradle of Richie’s hips. He licked along Richie’s pulse point, sucking lightly at the skin there. They were rocking against each other again, taking their time as Eddie moved up to whisper into Richie’s ear. “Honestly I want to fuck you.”

“Eddie—” Richie gasped. Eddie’s words sent bolts of pleasure directly to his dick.

“Is that okay?” Eddie asked, his voice deep with lust. He started undoing the buttons on Richie’s tacky shirt, leaving lingering kisses down his exposed chest.

“Fuck yeah it’s okay.” Richie managed. Eddie unclasped the last button and spread the fabric apart; his dark eyes began soaking in every inch of Richie’s bare skin. Richie felt divided under his heady stare, the one thing that kept him grounded was the pulsing heat that spread between every place they touched. One of Eddie’s hands came up to rest over Richie’s heart, the other scratched along the trail of hair that led down his torso. Richie arched into the contact. “Jesus, Eds. Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

Whatever lust-filled fog that had taken over Eddie’s mind visibly seemed to ebb away, and a self-conscious laugh slipped from his mouth.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure… It’s just that you’re—" Eddie stopped abruptly, his eyes darting away from Richie. “It’s not like I haven’t… I’ve watched porn before, and… I’m horny,” he defended.

“Yeah… I can tell.” Richie chuckled, slipping a hand between them to palm the thick bulge in Eddie’s pants for emphasis. Eddie’s mouth fell open in a drawn-out moan, and Richie could feel his dick twitching in his hand.

“Fuck—Rich. Do you have a condom in here? Lube?” Eddie asked, looking dazedly around the room.

“Top drawer,” Richie pointed to the nightstand with his free hand. “very back.” Eddie dove back in for a quick kiss before backing off the bed. His legs wobbled a bit as he riffled through the drawer and Richie couldn’t help the giggle that interrupted the near silence. Eddie’s gaze lifted; a defensive expression preemptively fixed onto his features.

“What’s so fucking funny?” Eddie asked, and any bite that may have been intended was lessened by how fondly he looked Richie up and down. Richie just shook his head and didn’t give an answer, because anything he said would amount to some iteration of ‘you’re just so darn cute, Eds.’ 

That fondness that had graced Eddie’s features slipped into something else, something darker, and he stared at the bare skin between Richie’s open shirt. “Take your shirt off.”

“Not fair, Eds. I’m practically already shirtless and you’re still completely dressed.” Richie said. 

Eddie didn’t hesitate, didn’t even roll his eyes, he just grabbed the hem of his sweatshirt and pulled it up and off. Richie audibly gulped. 

“Shirt. Off. Now.” Eddie said. Richie felt his cock pulsing, straining against his constricting pants as he slipped the button-up down his arms. Eddie grinned down at him when the task was done, satisfied that Richie actually listened to him for once. 

Richie didn’t doubt for a second that Eddie was trying to kill him. He had to gain back some semblance of control, or at least say something so it didn’t seem like he was close to coming in his pants just because his best friend was shirtless.

“Are you ever not bossy?”

“You know I’m not.” Eddie said absentmindedly as he found what he was looking for. He tossed the small foil packet beside Richie’s hip, but held onto the bottle of lube as he sat down, investigating it with a pensive stare.

Richie fidgeted impatiently, once again longing to feel Eddie’s heated skin but too scared to initiate anything since Eddie had moved off of him. He seemed so far away.

“What’s wrong?” Richie said, his voice wavering. “Having second th—”

“Sliquid?” Eddie drawled out. He looked back to Richie, a deep crease drawn between his brows. It took a moment for Richie to register what he was talking about.

“What? Got a problem with my choice of lubricant?” 

Eddie chuckled, a blessed sound that was music to Richie’s ears. His dimples became more and more prominent as he laughed, and Richie had to force himself to look away from them.

“No, it’s just—of course you’d choose the lube with a pun for a name.” Eddie said simply, as if he didn’t just read Richie like a fucking book. 

Maybe it wasn’t so awful to be known, Richie thought. At least not by Eddie.

He crawled over then, discarding the lube for the moment, and curling into Richie’s waiting arms. He was pressed into Richie’s side, idly drawing nonsense patterns across his chest. If Richie thought it felt good to be encompassed by Eddie’s warmth before, it was nothing compared to how it felt for Eddie’s bare skin to be fitted against his own; for Eddie’s head to be resting against his shoulder and his breath to be fanning across his pecs. Richie knew that Eddie must be able to hear how hard and fast his heart was beating, his ear pressed right up against that pounding muscle. If anything, it made it beat even faster.

It crossed Richie’s mind, momentarily, that they weren’t having sex like Eddie said he wanted to, they weren’t even making out, they were just…cuddling. But he wasn’t about to point it out.

He started playing with Eddie’s hair, making him sigh contentedly and turn his head into Richie’s chest to place an open-mouthed kiss there. It left a wet spot that turned cold, making Richie shiver. Eddie looked up at him with a sly grin.

“Cold?” He asked, never breaking eye contact as he placed another peck to Richie’s sternum.

“Nah, I’m hot as fuck.” Richie forced out a laugh that turned into a shuddering breath when Eddie’s tongue flicked across his left pec. His lips ghosted along Richie’s skin, dragging across his dark chest hair, before hovering above his nipple.

“Of course you are.” Eddie smiled down at him fondly, and if he meant that last statement to sound sarcastic or mocking, he failed spectacularly. But Richie didn’t have time to think about that for long, because Eddie’s thumb had begun stroking circles around his pert nipple. Electricity spread out from every point of contact. Heat and arousal thrummed through Richie’s body; every gentle but purposeful slide of Eddie’s hand seemed to have a direct line to Richie’s dick. He felt like he was rigged to explode. 

Eddie closed his thumb and forefinger around the sensitive nub, pinching it gently, testing the waters; Richie’s proceeding whimper proved that the trepidation was unnecessary.

“Is this okay?” Eddie whispered; his deep brown eyes fixed on the blush-colored skin that hardened between his fingers. Richie laughed at that, though it was a weak thing that sounded more like a whine.

“No, _of course_ it isn’t ok, get off my dick, you horny pasta dish.” Richie huffed, only registering exactly what he’d said after it was already out in the air between them. He couldn’t really be blamed for his lack of filter, though; all the blood in his body had left his brain—sometime around the moment that Eddie admitted he was a virgin—and traveled to his core to fill the hardness that was throbbing between his legs.

“Are you…was that—was that supposed to be a spaghetti joke?” Eddie gaped.

“Just—” Richie squeezed his eyes closed. “Just ignore me. Keep doin’ what you’re doin’.” 

Unbelievably, Eddie beamed at him; crooked teeth that Richie loved shining behind thin lips that he loved even more. A beautiful, breathy giggle escaped Eddie’s throat as he shook his head.

“What’s so funny, Eds?” Richie smiled, subconsciously matching Eddie’s own bright grin.

“Jesus—don’t let this go to your head, but _you_ are.”

“ _You_ think _I’m_ funny? Since when?” Richie asked. His eyebrows shot up incredulously, but his stomach fluttered with pure, unadulterated adoration.

“I’ve always thought you were funny.” Eddie said—as if it was obvious—and leaned back down to take Richie’s nipple between his lips. Richie’s back arched, pressing his chest into the contact. He most _certainly_ didn’t whine when Eddie licked gentle circles around the apex of the puckered skin. He paused suddenly, snapping his head up to look at Richie. “If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.” He deadpanned. Richie brought his fingers to his lips, mimicking a zipping motion.

Satisfied by Richie’s answer, Eddie resumed his ministrations; leaving Richie’s skin to tingle in the wake of every touch. His mouth traveled down, smoothing across downy hair and the gentle rise of Richie’s stomach; but one of his hands remained resolutely pinched around a nipple, drawing lust-filled keens from Richie’s lips.

“God, you’re loud.” Eddie said, smiling against his stomach; his eyelashes tickling Richie’s ribs. 

“To be fair,” Richie huffed, catching his breath. “you knew what you were getting in to.”

“I wasn’t complaining.” Eddie said simply.

Richie didn’t exactly know what to say to that. A part of him wanted to press his luck and ask Eddie if he was just as turned on as he was. It wasn’t too improbable; after all, Eddie’s words implied as much, and last time Richie checked, Eddie’s cock was still tenting his pajamas. But for once in his life, Richie couldn’t make his mouth work; he couldn’t bring himself to ruin the moment. He figured that if he brought attention to it, made Eddie consider the vast difference between their feelings for each other, then Eddie would change his mind and leave.

Richie didn’t want him to leave. 

So he stayed silent, only opening his mouth to moan when Eddie’s tongue swiped across his happy trail. Eddie’s hands stroked up and down Richie’s sides, stopping every once in a while to squeeze the softer parts of his tummy. 

Richie thought it was crazy how unbothered he was with Eddie’s touches; after all, Richie was self-conscious on the best of days—filled with self-loathing on the worst. And Eddie was… well, Eddie was _Eddie_. He was, and always had been, Richie’s definition of perfection. By all logic, Richie figured he’d be much more withdrawn—more embarrassed by how he stacked up in comparison. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be, because there was something so—dare he say it—loving about how Eddie was touching him, looking at him, kissing him. Richie felt—loved.

That couldn’t be right.

“Hey, hey, Eds.” 

Eddie reluctantly pulled back to look at him. “What’s wrong?” Eddie asked, voice rough and eyes darker than ever.

“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong—just, tonight’s about you, right?” Eddie’s gaze fell. “So I should be doing all the touching and stuff.”

Eddie looked pensive for a second, before giving Richie an imperceptible nod. He crawled back off of Richie, sitting on his heels. Neither of them said anything, and Eddie almost looked shy—like he’d lost control of the situation; Richie was overwhelmed with the need to rectify that, to make Eddie as comfortable as possible. Richie meant what he said: tonight was about Eddie, and he’d be damned if he let Eddie feel uncomfortable.

“Lay down up here,” Richie said, patting the pillows beside him—fueled only by a lifelong need to show Eddie how much he was loved.

Eddie visibly shivered, but did as he was told. He settled back into the plush pillows, and Richie took his place at the foot of the bed. 

Now it was Richie’s turn to look shy. Eddie looked like a dream; laid out on a fucking platter, all for Richie’s taking. Well… he hadn’t come this far to let him down now. 

Richie steeled himself, looking down and away from Eddie’s heavy gaze, and focusing on the tie of Eddie’s pajama bottoms. They were light gray, made of a worn flannel fabric that did little to hide the muscle definition in Eddie’s legs, or the stiff outline of his cock. Richie wanted—needed—to touch the soft fabric, had to feel it as it slid down Eddie's legs and gave way to the bristled, tan-lined skin underneath. A wicked smile crossed his face when he remembered that—at least for right now—he _could_ touch; and what’s more, Eddie wanted him to.

He scooted into the space between Eddie’s spread legs, and didn’t even make a snide comment when Eddie’s hips rocked up, involuntarily craving some kind of physical relief. Richie’s hands came up to the dip of Eddie’s waist. His skin was covered in goosebumps, despite how warm it was to the touch; a small flash of pride stirred in Richie’s chest, cause _he did that_.

Before he could get too distracted with his own emotions— _tonight was about Eddie, goddammit—_ he trailed his fingers across the sculpted lines of Eddie’s abs.

“This is insane.” Richie whispered, not really intending Eddie to hear.

“What?” Eddie asked panicked, looking down at his stomach for something wrong. Richie just laughed, never taking his eyes away from the firm muscle that tensed as Eddie sat up.

“It’s insane that you have abs.” Richie huffed, distracted by the feel of Eddie’s skin and hair and muscles beneath him; too intoxicated by their positions that his words ran away from him. “I just remember how cute little thirteen-year-old Eddie’s pudgy tummy was. It used to drive me crazy.”

“Drove you crazy?” Eddie gaped, propping himself up on wobbly arms; Richie was terrified to see the wheels turning behind his eyes, even as they turned stuporous, slowed down by a haze of desire. “What?”

Richie’s heart stopped; he replayed his words in his head—over and over—and no matter how much he wanted them to, they never changed. It wasn’t a blatant confession of love; and it didn’t even come close to being an admission of the harrowing longing that Richie had been dealing with for what felt like forever, but Eddie had still heard him clear as fucking day—heard him let it slip that once upon a time, young Richie had the biggest, stupidest crush on Eddie’s tighty-whitie’d, quarry water-covered body. 

He was staring at Richie, features flickering somewhere between hurt, confusion, and something else. Something Richie couldn’t think about right now.

“Richie, say something.” Eddie pleaded. Richie didn’t speak, couldn’t speak; he just sat there, stock still. A memorial statue to his own emotional impotence. “Did you have a crush on me? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Richie wasn’t going to answer any time soon; his tongue had become leaden, and his mouth dry. He glimpsed his hands, still resting on Eddie’s stomach, his fingers dug nervously into the muscle. He needed to move them off of Eddie and create distance between them; but Eddie hadn’t pushed him away yet, and Richie wasn’t going to separate himself from Eddie until he absolutely had to. He was going to cling onto this friendship as long as he could, because even if Eddie hated him now, Richie knew he would never stop loving Eddie. He had learned at least that much by now.

Richie still hadn’t said a word. He knew if he said anything that it would all come out wrong—like it always did when it came to Eddie. His hands had begun to shake, and he was surprised to feel his eyes threatening to brim with tears. He couldn’t make eye contact with Eddie, but he didn’t have to look to know that Eddie’s eyes were boring holes into him.

“Rich, please.” Eddie whispered. Richie felt a guilty pang in his chest; Eddie sounded so sweet, so caring, so _not_ upset, and worst of all, he sounded hurt. But Richie still wouldn’t meet his gaze, and he kept his mouth sealed shut. Richie figured that at this rate, they would both just die here: trapped in an almost-embrace, saying nothing and never moving.

That is, until Eddie’s hand moved to Richie’s; a warm, diminutive weight that had Richie breathing just a little more unsteadily. Eddie’s palm smoothed over the back of Richie’s hand.

“I’m not mad. I swear I’m not.” Eddie said, softly as he could. “But you’ve gotta answer me Richie… Did you like me? I mean, _like me_ like me?”

Richie finally caved; he looked up. Eddie’s features were uncharacteristically resigned, not a line or wrinkle of worry in sight. Richie hated it. All of this would have been easier if Eddie just pushed him away and told him to leave. At least then Richie would know where they stood—could get a good laugh out of Eddie telling him to leave his own apartment.

“Yeah. I did.” Richie said, surprising himself. He regretted it as soon as the words left his lips. They hung awkward and heavy in the air between them. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be; he had accepted that Eddie would only ever be his friend, and he was fine with that. _Totally fine._ But here he was fucking everything up.

“When… when did you start liking me?” Eddie asked. It wasn’t exactly what Richie was expecting, and he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop; but to be perfectly honest, Richie had lost every bit of fight he had in him, and he saw no more harm in answering truthfully.

“I think…I think I knew for sure after all the Pennywise shit, but… honestly I think I’d loved you since I met you.”

“Loved?” Eddie breathed.

“Yeah. I mean, I was a scared little gay kid in the middle of the Reagan administration; I wasn’t about to own up to the fact that I was in love with my best friend. But… yeah. Pretty pathetic, huh?” Richie laughed, a humorless, broken laugh. If Eddie wasn’t going to judge him, then Richie would do the work for him.

“Richie,” Eddie said sternly, tightening his hold on Richie’s hand. “it’s not pathetic.”

“It _is_ a little, Eds.” Richie sighed. Eddie was still staring at him, his brows furrowed in concern. Both of his hands had come up to hold Richie’s, and his thumbs were drawing soothing shapes into his skin. He looked downright sympathetic, and Richie really couldn’t handle that. “We don’t have to—”

“When did you stop?” Eddie asked, suddenly _very_ interested in a patch of dry skin between Richie’s fingers. Richie really wished Eddie was berating him for not moisturizing properly, instead of asking him about the embarrassing realities of childhood (adulthood) crushes. 

Richie _knew_ that he could lie. Not only would he be saving his own ass, but at this point in his life, lying was like a second language; he could definitely get away with it.

But.

There was something in Eddie’s face; and whatever it was, it made Richie feel… alright. There wasn’t any hate, or judgement; honestly there wasn’t a shred of negativity. Richie would have said that that surprised him, but this night had already turned out wilder than he could’ve dreamed; so there wasn’t much room left in his body for shock and awe. 

—And to be perfectly honest, if Richie said that he expected Eddie to hate him after such a confession, then he’d be lying. Eddie hated a lot of things: slow morning traffic, people that chewed with their mouths open, Munchausen by proxy, etc., etc. But Eddie hating Richie? Hating one of his lifelong friends? Never in a million years—

“I don’t think… I don’t think I ever stopped. It never really went away… It’s always been you. Just y—” Richie was stopped short. Last thing he saw was Eddie’s body, a flurry of upward movement and then… 

Eddie was kissing him.

_Eddie was fucking kissing him._

Which was fantastic for all of five seconds.

“Eddie—” Richie huffed against Eddie’s lips, pushing gently at his bare chest. But Eddie just pressed himself even more firmly into Richie, and shook his head.

“Shut up, Richie.” Eddie said, nuzzling himself into the crook of Richie’s neck. “Just shut up…”

Richie’s hands trembled as he tentatively wrapped them around Eddie’s waist; and the delicate kisses that Eddie was trailing up and down his neck had him shaking.

“Eddie, I don’t—I don’t understand.”

“I wish you would’ve told me.” Eddie said. He sounded so quiet, so nervous; and this time, when Richie pushed him back, he let him. But only by a couple of inches. Now Eddie and Richie were face to face; so close that when Eddie breathed out, Richie breathed him in. 

“Why?” Richie asked, shaking his head in disbelief; because not even in his wildest dreams could this have happened. Eddie leaned his forehead against Richie’s and laughed, shaking Richie as he did.

“Cause maybe if you did,” Eddie sighed. “I would’ve been brave enough to tell you that I felt the same way.”

“But—you didn’t—why—”

“Dude, why do you think I’ve always been such an asshole to you? For fun?” Eddie asked. He cupped Richie’s face between his hands. “That’s how kids flirt, right?”

Richie giggled at that; and laughed even harder when Eddie squished his cheeks together, pursing his lips.

“Yer four-y years owld.” Richie mumbled before Eddie released his face. 

“Yeah but you’re so annoying that you bring out the kid in me.” Eddie leaned in, whispering the words against Richie’s lips.

Richie’s heart was beating at a mile a minute; he could feel the reverberations in his ears, and in the pit of his stomach. And he didn't have to stand up to know that his legs had gone weak.

“Are you sure?” Richie asked, pulling away again. Richie didn’t think he could be blamed for being doubtful. It had been thirty-odd years since he fell hard for Eddie; that’s a lot of time to start losing hope. “I mean _really_ sure? Do you really want to be stuck with me?”

“Richie,” Eddie said exasperatedly, narrowing his eyes. “I got divorced and moved across the country to be with you. I stuck _myself_ with you cause that’s what _I_ wanted.”

_Okay_ , Richie thought, _good enough for me._

“What the fuck are you waiting for, Eds? Kiss me.”

Eddie giggled, cording his fingers through Richie’s messy hair and pulling him down.

“I’ve been fucking trying to, Trashmouth.”

Everything they’d been doing; every kiss, squeeze, every slide of skin on skin, every _everything_ was so much more intense than it was before. Because now both of them knew why the other’s touch felt so intoxicating—felt better than anyone else before. Because it wasn't just a last ditch, needy effort at getting their too-old rocks off. To Richie's neverending disbelief, it was love.

Somewhere in the back of Richie’s head, he remembered some melancholy song that played once or twice in the bars he went to during his starving artist years. If he remembered right, it went something like, _a bad cover version of love is not the real thing._ And that’s what every other person had been: a bad cover. Eddie—Eddie was the real thing, and Richie could feel that. He only hoped that Eddie felt it too.

They only broke away when they had to, breathing heavily against each other. Richie’s entire body burned, heated up with proximity and lust and a nearly wasted love.

“I don’t want to rush things,” Eddie said, his voice rough and his eyes dark as he looked up at Richie. “but if you still wanted to…”

“I do. I really do.” Richie said, tracing his finger down Eddie’s pulse point and feeling the quickening thud. “It’s been thirty years… who’s rushing things?” They both laughed, falling into each other and kissing messily around their giggles. 

Richie realized that he understood what Eddie had meant earlier: in this moment, Richie felt like a kid too.

“Alright, cool—that’s good. Me too. I mean, I want to too. Obviously.” Eddie stammered. When Richie simply smiled in response, Eddie took it upon himself to switch their positions, turning Richie onto his back and resting between his legs. “I’m gonna take these off, okay?” Eddie said, gesturing to Richie’s jeans.

“Please.” Richie whimpered. Eddie leaned back, moving out of Richie’s space and sitting beside him. He scraped his nails down the coarse hair beneath Richie’s navel, and the sensitive skin surrounding it, and Richie could feel the buzz of pleasure that traveled down, down to his cock.

Eddie popped the button of Richie’s jeans; it was a soft sound followed by the quiet buzz of his zipper being pulled down. The metal teeth separated around him, releasing the uncomfortable pressure from his renewed hard-on. Eddie scooted down the bed. When he reached the foot of it, he grasped the denim from around Richie’s hips and tugged the pants off and tossed them onto the floor.

“Not gonna get up and put them in the hamper?” Richie asked—wishing to god that snarky, bad jokes weren’t his go-to.

“I’m not _that_ much of a clean-freak, you’re just a slob.” Eddie simpered.

“You know you love it.”

“Yeah.” Eddie beamed. “Yeah I do.”

Richie could die happy. He really could.

Eddie spread Richie’s legs again, and maneuvered himself back into the empty space between them. Richie wanted to complain that Eddie was still too clothed, no matter how fucking good he looked in no shirt and pajama pants that hung low on his hips, but then Eddie was bending down, his face hovering inches from where he wanted him most.

“I want to make you feel good.” Eddie said. Richie could feel his breath fan across the thin cloth of his underwear. He glanced down and saw a wet spot of precum soaking through the light gray fabric, Eddie’s hands rubbing firm lines up his inner thighs, and Eddie’s face closing the scant distance between them. Richie hissed—actually _hissed_ —when Eddie’s face came into contact with his cock. He nuzzled up the length of it, and closed his lips around the clothed tip, breathing hotly. Richie’s eyes rolled back, lost in the feeling of _Eddie Kaspbrak_ mouthing at his dick.

“You’re not gonna have to try that hard.” Richie breathed, struggling around each word. Eddie laughed.

“I really, really want to fuck you.” Eddie said, licking a wet, sloppy stripe against Richie’s boxers that had him whimpering.

“Put your money where your mouth is, Spaghetti.”

Eddie smiled against him, looking up to the best of his abilities with a wry gaze.

“Oh, I plan on it.” He said, lifting himself up. “I plan on it, but… I mean, I’ve really never done this. I’m just doing what I think feels good.” He punctuated that sentiment by closing his hand around Richie’s—still frustratingly clothed—cock, and trailing down to massage the swell of his balls.

“Eds, you gotta stop overthinking this.” Richie said, swallowing down the saliva that was building up on his tongue. He cleared his throat and tried to take a deep breath, but got choked off when Eddie’s fingers started twisting around the crown of his head. He sounded fucked-out already, and all they had done was some heavy petting. “Trust me—you’re doing fine.”

“Just… just please let me know if I suck.” Eddie said, nervously chewing at his bottom lip. “I really want this to be good.”

“I get it; we all want our first time to—”

“Not for me—I want it to be good for you.” Eddie said, staring intently at Richie, as if the longer he stared, the more he could convey how much he really meant it. Richie’s breath caught. His brain had been struggling to catch up to the fact that Eddie _really did_ love him back; the thought had only been eking into his mind, slowly becoming truth. But then Eddie went and said _that,_ and Richie truly got it.

Richie nodded—wordlessly telling Eddie that _yes, I’ll tell you if it’s bad, but I’m still going to love it anyway._ Eddie nodded back and hooked his fingers into Richie’s waistband, his nails scratching into the v of his hips as he did so. He pulled them down, finagling Richie’s legs around him until he could tug them completely off. 

Insecurity reared its familiar, ugly head and mixed with the chill that Richie got when the conditioned air hit his arousal. He twisted his legs together and was about to wrap his arms around his pudgy, forty-year-old waist when Eddie spoke up.

“You’re beautiful.” He breathed, his eyes moving languidly up and down Richie’s form. Eddie’s gaze was heavy, so heavy that Richie could almost feel it as it traveled down his body. Eddie went quiet as he assayed every inch of him; his unkempt, too-long hair that splayed wildly against the pillow, his chest as it rose and fell with every nervous breath, his reddened cock that twitched and leaked against his stomach. Richie was laid bare for him; every imperfect stretch of skin and hair and neglect was there for Eddie’s judgement. But that beautiful asshole still had the nerve to shake his head in disbelief and say, “Why the hell did it take me so long to tell you how beautiful you are?”

“I love you.” Richie said. Because _how else_ was he supposed to respond to that?

“I love you too.” Eddie smiled, all dimples and big brown puppy eyes. Richie opened his legs for Eddie, and he situated himself between them easily, like he’d been doing it for years. He hovered over him, denying Richie the friction he was dying for, and kissed him through both of their goofy, lovestruck grins.

When Eddie broke their kiss, he leaned back onto his knees. Richie saw that at some point he’d managed to pick up the lube again. He popped open the cap and meticulously poured a healthy amount over his fingers. With his clean hand, he moved Richie’s legs, bending them up and back enough to give him a good view of Richie’s ass. And this time, Richie didn’t get a second to be self-conscious before Eddie’s slick fingers were rubbing purposefully around his rim.

“Fu—fuck.” Richie sighed, his body tensing.

“Sensitive?”

“Fuck you, man… It’s not—fuck—it’s not like I’ve been waiting for this… all my life.” Richie said, whispering the last part; because _fuck_ it’ was still a little hard to believe that he gets to say shit like that now. Out loud. To Eddie.

“I know, I know.” Eddie soothed, reaching up with his free hand to stroke Richie’s cheek. “Relax, Rich. I’ve got you…” And when the tip of his finger finally slipped in, he finished that sentence with the most scandalously, wanton sounding ‘baby.’

“Shit.” Richie hissed as Eddie’s finger started pulsing ever-so-slightly, in and out, in and out. He drank in every movement, every slide of Eddie’s fingers, the way his spread thighs would spasm when the pad of Eddie’s finger crooked slick and tight inside him, just—everything. It was _perfect_.

“Another?” Eddie asked, sounding a little breathless, himself. Richie wasn’t sure if he was ready, not physically at least; but he knew in his soul that he was ready for more of _Eddie_ —he’d only been waiting for thirty years.

“Please—please, Eddie.” Richie said desperately, lust and want and heady despair pouring out of his mouth. His hand flew up, seeking any kind of contact and finding the strong swell of Eddie’s right arm. Richie held tight, feeling the muscles pull and flex as Eddie retracted his finger for a moment to massage against his rim; but then he was pushing back in with two slippery fingers..

Richie’s cock got impossibly harder, thrumming with need even as his body burned with the new stretch. 

“Okay?” Eddie asked, bending his fingers _just right_ in a shallow thrust. Richie wanted to answer, tell Eddie that it felt fucking fantastic and he’d happily do only this for the rest of his life if he could; but Eddie was still crooking his fingers in steady circles against Richie’s prostate and bringing his thumb up to ghost across the seam of his balls. All he could do was nod. Though it was a very _enthusiastic_ nod.

Eddie opened him more and more. He hit all the right beats; scissoring his fingers, pushing deeper only to come back for more lube or to teasingly rub that bundle of nerves, and circling the crown of Richie’s dick with his tongue when he added a third finger.

This wasn’t Richie’s first rodeo; he didn’t go off on a hair trigger anymore like he did in his twenties, but right then in that moment—with Eddie bent over him, fingers and mouth giving Richie everything he had—Richie was worried he might. This was _Eddie Kaspbrak_ after all: love of Richie’s life, foulmouthed firecracker that matched Richie’s bickering hit for hit, bravest, sexiest, most wonderful man from Timbuktu to Portland, Maine (or Portland, Oregon for that matter). He was the first person to ever give Richie an inappropriate boner, and if Richie had anything to say about it, he’d be the last, too; but for right now, more than anything, Richie would really like to get fucked first.

As if he’d read his mind, Eddie carefully pulled his fingers out.

“That towel is clean.” Richie said dazedly, pointing as best as he could to the curled up, pink towel beside his bed.

“If it’s clean, why is it on the floor?” Eddie asked, bending over to pick up the towel anyway. Richie found it more than a little endearing that Eddie could fix him with a chiding look and still meticulously wipe lube off his fingers.

“Cause I’m a fucking mess.” Richie said, straightening his glasses.

“I know that.” Eddie laughed, sliding off the bed. His bottoms were off in the blink of an eye, and when he came back to bed, naked and toned and beautifully, achingly hard, he propped himself over Richie. “You’ve always been messy.”

“Still love me?” Richie asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“Shut the fuck up, of course I do.” Eddie said, acting like it pained him to say it; but both of them knew better.

Eddie kissed him. It was a quick peck that somehow said all of the loving, sincere things that two grown idiots were a little too repressed to say just now.

Eddie sat up, picking up a pillow in one hand and the foil package in the other. 

“For your hips.” He said, handing Richie the pillow. Richie nodded his thanks and worked it underneath himself. He watched rapturously as Eddie rolled the condom down his flushed length. Richie licked his lips in anticipation—of things to come, of kissing him stupid once this was all over, of one day getting to put his mouth around Eddie Kaspbrak’s gorgeous cock.

He finished with the condom and scooted his knees up the bed. His left hand fell beside Richie’s waist, holding himself up as he leaned over him; his right hand squeezed out more lube across his length, stroking himself a little too indulgently to spread it out. Richie nearly cried with want when he felt Eddie’s thick head lining up with his hole.

“Please—” Richie whined. “Eddie—fuck me.”

Eddie smiled wickedly, running his cock teasingly up and down the cleft of Richie’s ass. Richie moaned into every taunting bit of pressure, getting a little louder and more desperate every time his cockhead grazed his slick hole. 

Just when he didn’t think he could stand it any longer, he felt Eddie steadying his teasing movements and pushing in. Richie winced slightly as his tip slid past the tight ring of muscle. He forced himself to relax around the intrusion, breathing deep, in and out.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathed, hands rushing to grip at Richie’s hips, “you’re fucking tight—fuck.”

“Fuck.” Richie agreed.

Eddie held him firm, and just a little too hard, as he sunk deeper into his heat. A desperate thought came to Richie, then: that if he didn’t find Eddie’s skin and feel even more of him—even as Eddie found a deep, welcome home inside of him—then he’d be remiss in his lifelong, unconditional yearning.

When Richie reached up aimlessly and found dark chest hair and a dimpled cheek, he couldn’t help but hold on as tight as he could, like his life depended on it; and maybe it did, because Richie had gotten a taste of life without Eddie, and he knew he’d rather die an early death than lose him again. 

Eddie could only respond in kind, taking Richie’s thumb between his lips and licking at the salty, calloused pad of it as he pulled his cock out just enough to start thrusting, shallow and angled and _fast_. It wasn’t deep, Richie could no longer feel Eddie so far inside of himself that the stretch seemed to travel well into his stomach; instead, that intense, whole feeling was traded for animalistic rutting. Eddie was pegging Richie’s prostate, drawing the most sinful keens out of him; all the while using Richie’s tightness to chase his own pleasure.

Richie couldn’t do much more than watch Eddie’s abs flexing as he rolled his hips forward, smacking into Richie’s thighs. Eddie hollowed his cheeks around Richie’s thumb, and hot, disorienting pleasure shot to Richie’s core as he imagined that wet heat around another part of his body.

“Eds—Eddie, god you feel so fucking good… How the fuck are you a virgin?”

“Does it really feel good?” Eddie asked, breathing hard. Richie hummed the affirmative and brought both of his hands to Eddie’s chest—relishing the faint popping sound as he pulled his thumb from Eddie’s lips—to feel it heave and jerk with his thrusts. His pecs were glossy with a sheen of sweat that trailed down to his stomach; making him shine like diamonds that Richie couldn’t look away from. _Fuck_ , he was really gone for him.

“Better than good.” Richie said. “Baby—it’s perfect.”

And apparently that was all Eddie needed to hear. After a too-shy-for-their-current-position smile, he ceased his shallow motions and sheathed himself completely, knocking the air out of both his and Richie’s lungs. He picked up speed, cursing breathlessly as he did.

Richie let his eyes roll back. His body and the bed beneath him rocked in time with Eddie, who pushed deep and held himself there till Richie could almost feel his cock pulsing inside him.

It seemed like a dream—even as tendrils of pleasure spread through Richie’s core and down to his curling toes, it felt too good to be true. But this was real. So real.

Eddie’s keens began to increase in pitch and frequency, his words had become unheeding—just a constant stream of lustful curses and pet names that Richie was sure he’d deny later. But that was alright; now that he could, Richie would be saying enough ‘baby’s and ‘my love’s for the both of them.

“Are you close?” Richie asked, pressing a hand into Eddie’s lower stomach, lazily scratching the dark hair bellow his navel. “I want you to feel good, Eds—want to be the reason you come.”

“Fuck—Richie.” Eddie whined and Richie bared down onto his next thrust, making Eddie’s face screw up in intoxicated bliss. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m close. Are you?"

“Yeah, just… just touch me, please Eddie.”

“Okay, Rich,” Eddie said, taking Richie in hand, “I’ve got you.”

His hand was dry, and almost too cold against the pulsing heat of Richie crotch. Richie had never felt something so wonderful in all his life.

Eddie started stroking him quickly—much quicker than he casual rolls of his hips. Richie didn’t doubt that Eddie was staving off his own orgasm as he worked his hand heatedly to bring Richie closer to his own. He swiped his thumb over his slit, spreading the slick precum there down his length. The wet sound of Eddie’s hand fisting his cock, combined with the rude, quickening smack of hips meeting hips, was nearly enough to have Richie sobbing with pleasure. But it wasn’t until Eddie caught his eye—sharing a millisecond of unadulterated love and yearning—and bent forward to capture Richie’s lips in a messy kiss, that Richie came.

It felt surreal—to be crying out a lifetime of longing against Eddie’s lips. The world around him slipped away momentarily, leaving only him and Eddie behind.

The haze of the best orgasm he’d ever had lifted only when he felt Eddie tensing above him, burying himself in Richie one last time to spill into the condom. Richie kissed him through it: his furrowed brow, the mole and the scar on his left cheek, and his slack lips. 

Eddie’s breath slowly steadied, his rising chest pressed flush against Richie’s despite the come that had started cooling there.

Richie didn’t want to say anything. He needed Eddie to speak up first, to say that everything was alright, and their numerous declarations of love hadn’t just been lust-fueled pillow talk.

Eddie pulled his softened cock out carefully, tying off the condom with all the delicacy of someone who _hated_ a mess. Richie held his breath till Eddie met his eyes again, and when he did, he smiled like the sun on a clear Summer day. He laid back down atop Richie, pressing their foreheads together as best as he could with the thick rims of Richie’s glasses getting in the way.

“Hey there.” Eddie finally mustered, smiling lazily. Richie sighed into the inch of space between their lips, allowing himself to think that maybe sometimes things can end happily.

“There’s come on me.” Richie said, just to get a rise out of Eddie—just like he’d been doing since he’d fallen head-over-heels in love with the little twerp.

“Gross.” Eddie said, all the possible heat and annoyance lost to a post-coital daze.

“There’s come on you, too.” Richie pointed out, poking Eddie in the side.

“Shut the fuck up.” Eddie screwed up his face, but huffed out a laugh and kissed Richie softly anyway.

“You wanna take a shower?”

“Obviously.” Eddie said, sitting up and rolling his eyes. He grabbed Richie’s hands and pulled him up, soothing a hand down Richie’s back when he winced from the new position.

“Hey, Rich…” Eddie whispered, glancing uncertainly down at their clasped hands, “thank you for this.”

Richie unlinked a hand and brought it up to lift Eddie’s chin, fixing him with a meaningful stare even as his fogged glasses slid down his nose. He pressed a chaste kiss against Eddie’s tightly pursed lips.

“Anytime, Eddie my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title obviously from Eddie My Love by the Teen Queens, and the lyrics Richie thinks of are from Bad Cover by Pulp


End file.
